Chapter Thirteen
“I have done you a dear service,” Neatsfoot whispered to me, as we hurried down the stairs of the turret, then across the dark, empty courtyard to his own chambers. This was not far, it seemed, from the stable. “I could not let the Baron have his way with you. You are good. I can tell. My heart went out to you.”
“If your heart has gone out,” I asked. “Will you not allow me to return to the stable and my friends?”
“Those louts and simpletons? My young friend, that I cannot do. First, I must prove my love to you in my chamber; for . . . I think we have not met by accident. It is by some design, even if its form is not plain to us.”
In my country simplicity, I knew not what he meant, but followed him. I only hoped that my absence would not be so noticed by my young knigh
